


Disjointed Family

by CavannaRose



Series: Assorted DC Fics [4]
Category: Secret Six
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-19 21:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5982058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CavannaRose/pseuds/CavannaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secret Six isn't your ordinary team of villains. They've got a cause, and a deeper connection than they'd ever admit. This is a series of drabbles based on them, mainly focusing on Scandal Savage and Ragdoll Jr because they are my faves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ragdoll Jr

They called him perverted. They called him a freak... They weren't wrong. But really, what could one expect? His father used his triple-jointed nature to crawl into a giant doll's costume and commit larcenous acts. His sister... Well it was best not to dwell too much on poor, poor Alex.

Poor Peter Jr was a bit of a disappointment though. Not even double jointed! The horror! Luckily, modern medicine had plenty to solve his issues... If by modern you meant some poor sucker in a basement with a hacksaw, some ball bearings and a dime store sewing kit. The result wasn't beautiful, but it was pure. 360 degree maneuverability. Not even Dear Old Dad could boast that.

Peter had a flair for the dramatic. His costume had to be colourful, to match his nature... one would assume. Sometimes he saw the world a little differently though. It seemed to... distress people. He'd removed the one thing that seemed to fill his head with dirty, dirty thoughts, an act that caused even some of the most insane criminals he'd encountered to shudder, but it meant very little to him. It hadn't made the dirty thoughts go away though... It had merely redirected them slightly...

Perhaps this was why he was currently rolling around on the faux fur rug, limbs twisted this way and that, dressed only in a lady's silken negligee. It just felt nice. He hummed a happy little song to himself, pleased with the world.


	2. Scandal Savage

Sweat slid slowly down Scandal's brow, though she tried not to let it distract her. She was straining, breaths tight in her chest, limbs trembling as she fought to remain rigid, holding the weights above her head. She regretted the partial mask, as it impeded her breathing more than she would have preferred, the air stale and heavy in her lungs. Finally the beaded sweat dripped from her nose, splashing down to be lost somewhere in her cleavage.   
  
She grunted, adjusting her grip slightly before oh-so-slowly lowering the weights to the ground. Wiping the sweat from her brow with the back of her arm, she shot a quick glance around the training room. No one was here to comment, and that was a fucking miracle. Carefully she stretched, easing the tension out of the muscles with another grunt, this one of appreciation. Two hours. It was a new record for her. Now, now she could have that drink. It was a celebration. Celebrating her achievement, not an excuse to disappear into the bottom of a bottle.   
  
She strode through the halls, giving Ragdoll's room a wide berth. She could hear him giggling in there with his costumed monkeys... She tamped down a shudder. Perverted little freak. Entering the room she once shared with Knockout, before... No. None of that. She bent down, picking up a couple half empty bottles off the floor and tucking them under her arm, stripping as she headed for the small bathroom. With the hot water on full in the shower, she sat in the corner of the stall, letting it pound down over her head as she blotted out the world with alcohol.


	3. Ragdoll Jr

Giggling to himself Ragdoll carefully completed the stitches in the last little costume, holding it up in front of his little monkey friends and making a cooing sound of appreciation. "Look at you, my handsome fellow. You'll make the smiles come back, cheer up all the gloomy guts like caterpillars after a rain!" Nonsense spouted he helped the monkeys dress in their tiny costumes, replicas of his teammates outfits. He looked sadly at the little green outfit, considering it.   
  
"I don't know I don't know... Maybe a smile... Maybe Ragdoll needs new stuffing... It's a quandary my friends." He tilted his head to one side, listening. From where he sat, it seemed as if Scandal might be drinking in the shower. Again. She thought that the rest of them wouldn't know what she was doing, but Ragdoll knew... A boy named Peter used to do the same thing. Hard to hear tears when there's already water falling. He was often the weird one, the crazy one, the one that just didn't get things... but the man of the rotating joints bent and picked up the little green costume, folding it neatly and tucking it away.   
  
"Not yet... Too soon, my friends. Maybe too soon forever."


	4. Scandal Savage

She still reached for the other side of the bed when she slept, it didn't matter how alcohol-soaked she managed o get, no matter how beaten up and exhausted. Perhaps it was sappy and pathetic, evidence of some failing within her, but Knockout had been the first person to love her, to understand her. What they'd had was special, and she still mourned the loss like a deep ache in her soul, even after all this time. The others had tried, each in their own unique ways, to help her, but they didn't understand. How could they? Who among them had held and lost what she had?

She lay in her cold, empty bed for nearly an hour, listening to the sounds of the building before giving up on any continued sleep. Her brain was too awake, and the first stirrings of hangover indicated that her buzz had worn off quicker than expected. With a groan she slid out from under the covers and stood, swaying for a moment as the throbbing in her skull kicked up a notch. She adjusted the waistband of the stained boxers she'd been sleeping in before stumbling to the door.

Scandal braced herself against the lintel for a moment, reorienting herself and listening to ensure that no one else was up and about. The last thing she wanted was to have yet another conversation with one of her teammates. The guys meant well... for the most part. Luckily it was quiet, apparently either too early or too late for the rest of the Six, depending on their own peculiar habits and predilections.

The brunette padded quietly through the building, holding her breath and taking extra care as she passed Ragdoll's room so as not to disturb his pet monkeys. Their haring was far too keen for comfort, and he was prone to invite himself along if he was woken up. The last thing Scandal wanted right now was to listen to that weirdo's inane nattering about absolute nonsense.

Making her way down to the training room, she strapped on the clawed blades that she favoured. Perusing the equipment, she made a decision and set up a set of wooden targets and leather dummies. She took a few moments to stretch, pacing to warm up the tense muscles in her legs and back, checking the edges of her blades and breathing quietly.

Finally she moved, even the hangover barely dulling the force and precision of her actions. Deny it as she may, she was her father's daughter, the savagery with which she attacked the posts and fake bodies an echo of the creature he once was, the strength in her veins greater than expected of a woman her size. Slowly she settled into a rhythmical pattern, falling into a fighting style so old that very few would recognize it. She sliced through a thick pole with her claws, coming to rest on the balls of her feet before springing away and tackling a dummy to the ground. It was brutal, powerful... raw. Nothing held back, every movement a precise balance of accuracy and force. She never used it in public, she would not honour her father like that, but here, in private, she relived her childhood training.

Soon sweat was plastering the greying tank top to her heaving chest, the few remaining white patches translucent with perspiration. Scandal finally halted, leaning forward to catch her breath, hands braced on her knees as she sucked in air to her oxygen-deprived lungs. Dragging a forearm across her sopping brow, she bit out a curse, nicking the side of her face with the forgotten claws.

Carefully she unbuckled the blades, cleaning the sharp edges thoroughly, checking them for damage before setting them aside. Fetching the broom she swept up the the kindling she'd made of the practice gear. She just knew Lawton would bitch until she paid for replacements. Hopefully after a quick shower and another bottle she'd be able to sleep the rest of the night away now.


	5. Ragdoll Jr

The monkeys were restless tonight. Peter carefully brushed out their fur and changed their little outfits before tucking each one into their own little dresser drawer to sleep. He scolded them gently for being up so far past bedtime, and placed kisses on their tiny foreheads. He backed away, a half smile on his face as he considered folding away into his own drawer. Just then something caught his attention and he tilted his head to one side, catching the faintest sound of movement. Someone else was apparently sleepless tonight.  
  
The misjointed madman himself didn't sleep much, the pain from his surgically altered joints kept him awake more often than not, even when he took his medicine. Scuttling around the room like a spider he flung on whatever clothes-like objects he came across... in this case a lacy nightgown and a pair of blousy ladies' bloomers.   
  
Ever so quietly, he crept out of his room, closing the door silently so as not to wake his little precious babies. He had to be careful following, sometimes his friends wanted to be alone, and they could enforce that solitude rather violently. It didn't take long to discover the first two floors were empty, so he oozed down to the training rooms.   
  
Ragdoll pulled up short at the sound of splitting wood, backing up a windmilling step. It didn't sound like whomever was in there wanted company... but there was no harm in watching, right? Changing direction he pulled the vent plating off with his long fingers, working his scrawny form into the ducts and slithering along until he was over the workout space. Eyes wide with interest he watched Scandal. She was like a different person down there by herself. Fascinating. It was like a secret... and Peter loved secrets. Choking back a chuckle as she began cleaning up he wormed his way back through the ducts, curiousity eating at him as he scampered back to hide in his room.


	6. Scandal Savage

Vandal Savage had taught her to be sharp as a blade, cold as an ice age, hard as a diamond. Though he had craved a son to carry on his legacy, Scandal had been fierce enough, even as a child, to impress him. She had no soft childhood memories to look back upon, but she was not entirely unfond of her time training beneath her father's watchful gaze either.

The loathing had come later, long after he had forged her into the weapon she was, and she _was_ an impressive weapon. She hadn't even known what she was missing until she had met Knockout and fallen in love. The former Female Fury had a past as violent as Scandal's own, but together they had healed something within each other. Something that was now raw and raging within the warrior woman's heart.

Even here, in the thick of battle, her mind was not on her surroundings. Her body was a well-honed tool, dodging her opponents swings and returning blows with her bladed claws that were brutal in their ferocity; ferocity born of that heartache within her breast.

Scandal cut down a third assailant, face grim. Her father was getting more insistent in his mission to reclaim his wayward heir. He had never sent quite this many men to relay his message before, and her energy was beginning to flag. It mattered little, though. She would slit her own throat before returning to his compound. She was no longer the property of the man who had given her life.

Seven, eight, nine... opponents fell like broken matchsticks, their viscera-soaked bodies a testament to the fact that, despite her gender, Scandal Savage was worthy to be Vandal's Heir.


	7. Ragdoll Jr

Ragdoll's limbs jerked and twitched, pain coursing through them like a fire that could never be extinguished. The medication that lubricated his artificially enhanced joints didn't do much for the pain the stitched-together contortionist felt. They were supposed to ease the strain, but some days even that wasn't enough. He whimpered, a truly pitiful sound, arms and legs curling around himself like an injured spider.

All he'd ever wanted to do was make his father proud of him. To be like his father and sister, and perform the fantastic feats that they were capable of. Unfortunately, he'd taken it too far. The surgical procedures that still caused him so much strife had enhanced his abilities far beyond those of Peter Merkel Senior.

He hadn't truly understood. A man so self-aggrandizing that he'd formed a cult around himself could tolerate no competition, not even from his own son. So the younger Peter had been cast out, scorned by the stern, vile man that he had both feared and idolized, the man he'd perverted his natural form to impress.

Yet... He'd gotten off better than poor, twisted Alex. What his sweet little sister had faced at their father's twisted whim... Well, he wasn't going to think about that.


	8. Scandal Savage

A mission had been exactly what she needed. This one was simple, infiltrate some culty buggers' manor, steal some blueprints, get out again. She made eye contact across their cover with Lawton, giving her head a subtle shake to indicate that things weren't ready yet. Secret Six they might be, but this mission had only called for three of them, though she still maintained they could have done it with two, but some people felt that bringing Ragdoll along to assist with infiltration reduced the risk of injury, and Floyd, the coward, had jumped at that. As if the ranged sniper was the one at risk anyway. She was much more likely to take damage, with her particularly up close and personal fighting style, but since she wasn't about to argue with the big guy when he was set on something, and since she didn't want him to actually come along, she'd accepted the twisty freak.

Speaking of, the little weirdo should be letting her in right about... now. There it was, a window on the bottom floor slid open, one creepy masked face silhouetted for a moment in the moonlight. Checking to make sure that Deadshot was ready, she sprinted across the open space, Lawton providing cover fire as the idiots they were liberating goods from tonight tried to hit her, strafing shots across the front lawn of the stately manor. The sniper at her back might be a scumbag, but damnit he was one of her scumbags and his aim was impeccable. The two shooters in the upper windows went quiet almost as quickly as they opened fire.

Skidding the last few feet, she hauled herself over the windowsill, dropping quietly to a crouch inside the room. With a silent gesture, she indicated that the ball-jointed contortionist should lead the way, and she carefully ignored Ragdoll's quietly murmured nonsense. As long as he didn't draw attention to them, she wouldn't broach an argument about his sing-songy self-amusement. Turning a corner they surprised a trio of cultists, and Scandal allowed a rare smile to cross her face.

In a heartbeat she was amidst them, one metal claw slicing across a shoulder before the other embedded in a second man's throat. She kicked the impaled man off her blade, turning to find Ragdoll wrapped around the third man, the odd angles of his limbs crushing the air our of the cultist in a weird, spider-like grasp. Shuddering, she turned back to the injured man, using a criss-crossing cut to spill his innards across the tacky carpet.

With no further interruptions they made it to the study, the blueprints conveniently spread across a heavy oaken desk. She paused, a frown marring her face. Sure cultists were stupid, but could it really be this easy? Indicating that Ragdoll should keep watch at the door, she crept across the room, to realize that one of the cultists was fast asleep in the large chair. That explained why everything was still out in the open. She tiptoed around behind the man, carefully slicing his throat open, one hand on his mouth to muffle any sound. When he went slack, she let him slide to the floor, wiping off her blades on his ceremonially robe before rolling up the blueprints and tucking them away safely.

Absently she gave Ragdoll a congratulatory pat on the shoulder as she passed by him, heading back towards their entrance point and completely missing the astonished, and then smitten facial expressions that crossed the attention-starved oddball's face.


	9. Scandal Savage

The lights flickered, casting intermittent shadows across the yellow-stained walls. In the centre of the depressingly barren room, she called it spartan, sat Scandal Savage. Her face was drawn in fierce concentration, shoulders braced, brow wrinkled determinedly. Meditation had never come easy to her, but sometimes it was simply necessary. Like today. Her thoughts were all a-jumble, racing around willy-nilly and tripping upon one another. Without some kind of clarity she would be next to useless on the evening's planned mission.

In all honesty, the fabled fighter had been a waste of time and resources since the death of her beloved Knockout, but as the saying went, time healed all wounds, even this one. She hadn't believed in love, and that's what made losing it so much more difficult for her than for other people. Regardless, she was finished trying to drink herself into oblivion. It hadn't worked, and she had given it a great deal of effort. She didn't need to be taken care of, no matter what certain large, over-bearing members of the team believed.

Finally she found it, the calm at the centre of the maelstrom she called her emotions. It was like white noise, filling her up until all else was silent. Slowly, the tension eased from Scandal's shoulders as she coasted along that realm of nothingness. Her chaotic thoughts and feelings bled away, leaving her empty and blissfully peaceful for a few long-needed moments of time.

On this day, though, even here in her own mind she was denied the comfort she so desperately grasped at. From the depths came a deep, rumbling voice, the only one capable of disturbing her here. She turned within the whiteness of her mindscape, to face a figure she could never ever trust. He had honed her into the weapon that she was, but his work was too complete, she had cut through his lies and seen the horror of his reality.

"Father, you are not welcome here."

He strode across her mental landscape as if he owned the place, an indulgent smile on his face. With a shake of his head and a dismissive tsking sound he waved away her protestations as if they were still the futile rebellions of the child she once was. "Come now, child, this behaviour is unsuited to the one I have named heir to all I possess. You must return to the compound."

With a thought, the Lamentation Blades formed on her hands, three curved blades over each tightly gripped fist, ready to slash at the vulnerable points of all that opposed her. "I am not a child, and an heir to one who does not die is an empty promise. You can not fool me with your pretty lies any longer, Father, I am not nine years old anymore."

Vandal Savage sighed with the patience of one so ancient that he had seen a thousand civilizations rise and fall. "I am your father, and you shall always be a child in my presence. I had hoped you would see reason." The pleasant illusion fell from his face, leaving it hard and cold, a look Scandal had rarely seen growing up, but had first struck her on the day she left his gracious presence. "I see you insist we do this the hard way. You will return to the compound. If you refuse to do so under your own power, I will be forced to dispatch agents to fetch you. Do not press my temper, girl."

The woman allowed a cold, cruel smile to cross her face. "Don't send anyone you value too highly, old man, they'll be returning in pieces. Now GET. OUT." She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself from the meditative state, effectively banishing the man from her mind. Once more Scandal was in the barren little room, bent over on hands and knees, sweat cascading down her forehead from the effort. In the doorway, the surprisingly unmasked face of Ragdoll peered in, concern on his stitched together features.

"Is... Are you all right?" The twisted man skittered in the door, the strangely fluid movement of his altered joints didn't even disturb her anymore, so used to him she had become.

She shook her head, sweat splattering against the floor. "I'm fine, Peter. Go fetch Thomas, I need to tell him something."


	10. Scandal Savage

There were innumerable things that Scandal Savage enjoyed doing, oddly enough, grocery shopping was one of them. Back before... well, before, she used to take Knockout. Her lover had been awed by the building simply full to bursting with food, and to exchange slips of paper for such things had been such a joy for her. Knockout might be gone, but Scandal was getting past that, and she was soaking up the little bits of happiness left to her memories. Besides, the base was completely of food. Lawton and Blake were too damn macho to do the shopping, and Ragdoll... well it was best not to let him out of the house too often. Jeanette only ever bought fancy food and Scandal just didn't know how to cook it, plus most of it just tasted weird.

Other than herself, the only member of the Six she'd trust to go shopping besides her was Bane, and it was just too funny to picture. The one time he'd gone he'd brought home simply, healthy food... and a box of fruit snacks that he had doled out to her when she had been a 'good girl', his words not hers. He was sweet, but if she had to listen to Lawton's creepy daddy jokes any more she'd strangle the jerk.

The sound of a motorcycle outside caught her attention for half a moment, it wasn't that common around here, but she brushed it off as paranoia. She should have known better. Years at her father's feet had honed her instinct, she was growing complacent. Instead of being prepared, she was just as shocked as the civilian masses when the glass windows of the market shattered inward. She immediately went combat ready, sliding the Lamentation Blades from her bag and into place. Someone was messing with the wrong town.

The voice that started calling her out was unfamiliar, and that was... odd. She was angry that some new asshole was here, frightening innocents and she didn't know why. Scandal stood, bladed hands in front of her like a boxer on the defensive. "Visiting hours are between noon and four, at the House of Secrets only you irrational asshole. What the hell do you think you're trying to prove?!?" She called out across the riotous grocery store. She moved through the scattering civilians, eyes on the rather gaudy figure. Who the hell was this shitebag?


	11. Ragdoll Jr

Music. It called to him in a way that few people could understand. He was a twisted creature, broken and foul, but somewhere in that it gave him a deeper longing for that which was truly beautiful. Fine food, soft materials, but above all else... music. With the beautiful sound of a voice in his ears, he could forget how much his altered joints constantly pained him. He could forget his stitched together face, and the ... lack of certain body parts.

He'd become obsessed, lately, with a particular young singer. Her face was like an epiphany, and her voice gave his heart wings. He had begun, several weeks ago, to send her little gifts. Notes written in crayon in his childish hand, never having attended an actual school his penmanship wasn't the greatest. Small little effigies, dolls dressed in silk. Still, nothing had come of it. He watched every performance, his wiry frame threaded through the overhanging scaffolding of the stages and clubs.

He was obsessed. Couldn't get the face of her out of his mind. He had to do something. Get closer to her. She was performing right now, her voice came through the walls as if he was standing beside her. He was in the dressing room the venue set aside for her, among her things. Like the deranged fan that he was, he was pawing through her private things, an amused smile on his face beneath the pale white mask. His gloves he'd removed, to feel the fabrics of her clothing. The skin of his hand was stitched together crudely, and he caught the ragged flesh on the delicate weave of her fabrics.

He reached his free hand up, pulling the mask from his face, wig and all. The stitches across his face made his eyes look wider, younger, despite the few strands of straggly hair clinging to his scalp. Not noticing that the singing out front had stopped, he pressed the small scrap of fabric to his face, feeling the softness of it, breathing in the smell of her.

Peter, with his face exposed in a way that it rarely was in public, was unprepared for the object of his affection to head his way. He left the mask and wig on the chair by the vanity, digging madly through her clothes until he'd made a little pile on the floor. He stripped out of his motley, tugging on something sexy and silky, something of an intimate nature not meant for others to wear, most likely.

He rolled around in it, in the pile of clothes, eyes shut tight with ecstasy. There was an almost sexual pleasure for him in the act, though not entirely since he was lacking the necessary organs for male orgasm. Still, he was enjoying himself, and his life had led him to cherish even the most perverse of pleasures. The stitch-faced villain was lost to the moment.


End file.
